


Innocence of Youth

by FalsettoSlumber



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Divorce, M/M, Parenthood, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalsettoSlumber/pseuds/FalsettoSlumber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy once had it all. Wealth, family, "friends". But now, he sits alone, in a drunken stupor, with nothing to his name but a stinking hole in a side street of Diagon Alley. When something unexpected turns up at his door, everything changes again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bottom of a Whisky Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The silence of the dining hall echoed his feelings, and he began to sob.

 

  
_Alone, I stand—_   
_A broken man..._   
_All I have is one last chance_   
_I won't turn my back on you_   
_Take my hand_   
_Drag me down_   
_If you fall, then I will, too_   
_And I can't save what's left of you..._

_\- Breaking Benjamin: Without you_

* * *

A broken man wandered dismally down the stone flagged street, its cobbles worn from the thousands of feet that had trodden it, many looking equally as melancholy as he. His blond hair was dull under the overcast sky, and he pulled up the hood of his cloak as the rain began to fall, the soft pattering sound surrounding him as it hit rooftops and stall canopies.

A small child ran past him, knocking into his hip as he shrieked to get out of the rain. His mother followed soon after, apologising to him as she tried to find the boy. He stared after the pair, his eyes downcast, unhappy.

_The boy sat at the long, heavily laden table, crossing his arms with disdain as he glared at the plate before him._

" _I don't want any." He profusely refused the food, and Draco sighed, placing his forehead in his hand in exhaustion. Standing wearily, he removed the plate, stroking the boy's hair as he left the room. The child stared after him, uncrossing arms in confusion._

" _Can I go home now?" He muttered, and Draco nodded, lifting his wand to summon the house elf. She appeared with a crack, her large eyes bowed respectfully, ears folded in. Draco raised his eyebrows at her, and she nodded, disappearing to the fireplace in a hurry. Moments later, another crack was heard, and Pigmy disappeared._

_The silence was thick in the dismal room, and the boy jumped from his chair, marching past Draco to collect his trunk. A moment later, Pigmy reappeared, hand in hand with a tall, graceful woman. Her dark hair was pulled back into a high bun at the back of her head, and her robes were of a sumptuous design, brilliant emerald patterns coiling around the sleeves._

" _Where is Scorpius?" She asked, and the boy appeared, glaring at his father with a look of disgust. Belittling._

" _He made me eat weird stuff. I don't like it here, mum. Can I just live with you?" He pleaded, and Astoria looked at him with a gaze of comfort. Glancing at Draco, she nodded, before turning on her heel, grabbing her son's hand in the process, and disappearing._

_Draco stared at the spot where she had disapparated, and slowly sank to the floor, face in hands. Pigmy crept up to him, laying a thin, bony hand upon his shoulder. He waved her away, and she bowed._

" _Sir." She murmured, before disappearing, probably to go and inspect the house for dust specks she had missed. As she went, Draco looked up, his eyes solemn, unfeeling._

_The silence of the dining hall echoed his feelings, and he began to sob._

"Malfoy!" A voice called behind him, and the man turned around, to see a man he recognised as his work colleague, Terrance Fudge, running up to him. Draco raised an eyebrow expectantly, and the man caught up, bending over to pant in exertion.

"You… pant… move so… pant… quickly… pant." He breathed heavily, and Draco laughed, an unfeeling, high sound that pierced his own ears mockingly. Fudge finally regained his breath, and stood up straight.

"You missed an owl at the office. There is a meeting later on, Lionel has a new job for you." He said, and Draco shrugged, moving on quickly down the alley. Fudge jogged to keep up with him; the portly man was not in good shape, and he was soon out of breath again.

"That means you should probably go and see what said job is, Malfoy." He suggested sarcastically, and Draco turned on him, wand pointed at his nose threateningly. Fudge went white, and stammered pathetically;

"Now, see here Malfoy!" Draco pressed the tip of his wand against his throat, and lowered his voice.

"I'm resigning, Fudge. Gone, absent. I don't need your stupid little office job anymore. I am a _Malfoy_. Did you really expect me to stay in that flea-bitten hovel, trying to track down Death Eaters to your cause? I'm done. Out. I want no more to do with it. Oh, you worry that I shall tell Kingsley Shacklebolt of your misdeeds, but don't you fret. My lips are sealed." He glared at the other man, before releasing him. He fell to the side slightly, and a woman nearby moved away, afraid.

"Mark my words, Malfoy. This won't go down well!" Fudge shrieked girlishly, and Draco rolled his eyes as he slipped away. As he walked, he lifted his wand, and with an unspoken curse, the hem of the other man's cloak began to smoke, before bursting into flames.

Leaving behind his hysterical ex-co-worker, he swung himself through the doorway of the Leaky Cauldron, ignoring the other patrons glares as he sat himself down in the corner. The wizened old barman appeared immediately at his elbow, looking expectantly at the board of drinks prices on the wall. Sighing, Draco ordered a flagon of fire-whiskey, and the barman edged away, looking warily at the man's barely concealed left arm. Although much of his skin was hidden by his wand holder, a touch of black ink was visible where he had rolled his sleeves up, the mark of his old allegiances.

Noticing, Draco pulled the material lower, hiding his past. His memories. Shrugging it off, he pulled out a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ , regarding the headlines with distaste. Something about some muggleborn fool preceding his father as Hogwarts school governor, and some tripe about a fourteenth anniversary of Saint Potter's achievements.

As if it mattered now, he thought disdainfully. The man was long gone, disappeared into the mountains with no trace. Three years had passed since the git had left the wizarding world behind.

Where he had been forced from his child, forced to stop seeing his beautiful Scorpius, Potter had merely upped sticks and left, leaving Ginevra Potter to look after three kids. Draco sneered in disgust, crumpling the paper into his hand. Potter's smiling face folded, patronising eyes disappearing as Draco threw the paper to the seat opposite.

The barman appeared, clutching a flagon of fire-whiskey, and Draco grabbed it from him, downing the golden liquid in one. Grimacing, he threw a galleon on the table, and left the tavern quickly, casting his eyes down.

Outside once more, he moved quickly down the street, pulling himself up a concealed staircase groggily as the whiskey took effect. Reaching a locked door, he pulled a roughly hewn key from his robe, and stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. The gloomy interior of the room calmed him, and he threw himself down upon a green leather armchair. Reaching next to him, he poured himself another glass of fire-whiskey, throwing it down his throat with abandon.

Throughout the course of the evening, Draco managed to work himself into a rather good stupor, and eventually found himself barely conscious, and slumped on the floor of the dinghy apartment. A thumping in his ears suggested to him that that pain he was feeling all over was mainly coming from his head, although the pins and needles from his feet weren't helping. The thumping continued, and he rolled over groaning.

This was not becoming of a Malfoy, he thought to himself, and pulled himself up. At least he could enjoy his drunken comatose state in comfort. The thumping continued, however, and Draco realised that perhaps, it wasn't all in his head. Opening his eyes, suddenly feeling much more awake, he heard somebody banging on his front door with a large amount of persistence.

"Oh go away." He muttered, even as he stood groggily to greet whoever had decided to wake him at whatever ungodly hour it happened to be.

"I'M COMING!" He hollered, and the banging relented slightly, though he could still hear somebody impatiently tapping their nails on the frame. Wrenching the door open, he prepared to enter into some rant about how he had been enjoying an evening of depression and drunkenness, and could whatever impromptu visit please wait until the morning of never, when he took in the sight of just _who_ was stood on his doorstep.

"Potter?"


	2. Crows' Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That bed did look comfortable, Draco found himself thinking suddenly. Why had he so willingly given it up to Potter?

  
_Caress the one, the Never-Fading_   
_Rain in your heart—the tears of snow-white sorrow_   
_Caress the one, the hiding amaranth_   
_In a land of the daybreak_   
_Apart from the wandering pack_   
_In this brief flight of time we reach_   
_For the ones, whoever dare_   


_\- Nightwish: Amaranth_

* * *

Draco stood at the grime covered door, eyes wide, breath hitching in confusion. Harry Potter stood on his doorstep, looking downright dismal in the moonlight outside. He said nothing, merely moved over the threshold, pushing Draco back against a wall as he tried to avoid touching the man. Saying nothing, Draco moved to add more light to the room, casting _Lumos_ spells over the dozens of normally disused lamps lining the walls.

Potter turned to him, opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and stayed quiet, slumping forlornly in a chair. The man was wearing clothes that surprised Draco. Gone were his over-sized muggle jeans and jumper. Instead he was wearing more of what Draco could only describe as _fashion_. The dark haired man was clad in tight grey trousers, and dragon skin brogues. Paired with a light jumper and a thick emerald cloak, Draco could merely describe him as… he stopped himself, shaking his head, bemused. Potter had let his hair go, he commented inwardly though; it was curling around his shirt collar in duck tails, and Draco suppressed an unexpected chuckle. Malfoys did _not_ chuckle. Then again, what alliance to the name did he even have now?

"Err…" Draco cleared his throat pointedly, raising an expectant eyebrow at Potter. The other man sighed, looking tired. Saddened.

"Do you have a bed I can borrow?" He asked quietly, clearly not willing to give up any information just yet. Draco's eyes widened, nodding. He led Potter to his own bedroom uncertainly. There was only one bed in the apartment. It seemed he was in for a night of back ache from the settee after all. Emerald eyes looked at him thankfully, and he dragged himself off into the shadows, where Draco heard him collapse on the bed immediately. Shrugging to himself, he vowed to find out everything tomorrow. He could do it. Despite all hatred for his family, he was still himself. Still as devious and cunning as the first day he had met Potter. Insufferable prat.

Crawling over to his previous position on the settee, he mulled over the last day. It seemed nothing was to go right for him today. Closing his eyes wearily, he attempted to sleep, ignoring all thoughts of his nemesis sleeping in his bed.

A few hours later, Draco was woken from an uncomfortable sleep by a series of yelps, followed by a short moan coming from his bedroom. Glaring over his shoulder at the door, he pulled his cloak over him once more, clenching his eyes shut tightly.

"No, please. No…" Potter was muttering in his sleep from the other room, sounding both pathetic and… in pain at the same time. Draco shook his head; no. Don't think that. Shrugging back into position once more, he blocked Potter out, and was just drifting off once more when he heard a barley stifled scream from behind him. Sighing, he renounce all thoughts of sleep, and clamoured up stiffly from the leather settee. He walked to the door, and pushed it open softly, to peer into the shadows of his bedroom. The moon's position had moved now, and the moonlight shining through the window fell on Potter laid in his bed, sprawled spread eagled as he rolled over, groaning in his sleep.

"Potter!" Draco hissed from the doorway. No reply. Sighing, he stepped gently over the rug, to stare down at the sleeping wonder boy. Shaking his shoulder slightly, Draco hissed his name again, and the man still ignored him, but for a muffled yelp of pain once more. Rolling his eyes, Draco sneered. Saint Potter. Still having nightmares at thirty. He whimpered in his sleep and Draco frowned, shaking him again.

"Harry?" He muttered, the word sounding alien on his tongue. Potter mumbled incoherently in his sleep, his face relaxing slightly. That bed did look comfortable, Draco found himself thinking suddenly. Why had he so willingly given it up to Potter? Why did he not simply tell him to sleep on the settee. Even better, why had he not told the impertinent Gryffindor to get out of his house? Frowning, he thought about the settee, and its ability to make his back feel as if he had done several rounds with Grawp. Surely he could still use the bed? He could just shove Potter to the other side. Freeze him with a simple spell for the night. Silence him. It couldn't be so difficult, could it?

Decided, at last, Draco pulled the covers back on the side of the bed closest, slipping himself beneath them, beside the person he had hated so much for so many years. Had to keep reminding himself of the hate. Had to…

Potter suddenly yelled out in his sleep again, flailing his limbs wildly. Draco grabbed his wand, and was preparing to perform the spells needed for a peaceful night's sleep when the brunette rolled over, clutching at the Slytherin's arm as if it were some kind of comforter. Face flushing brilliantly, Draco patted Harry's - _Potter's_ \- shoulder awkwardly, wondering how he could get himself out of the situation. Feeling how strong a grasp Potter held on to his arm, he realised that getting out of this would be near impossible.

Draco sat back against the headboard, staring at Potter curiously. There was a pale line on his ring finger where his ring was missing, and he frowned, puzzled. The man's hair tickled against his bare arm, and Draco, bemused, reached out a hand to touch it. Strange; it reminded him of crow's feathers. Potter whimpered again in his sleep, and Draco frowned, stroking his hand absentmindedly as it curled around his wrist.

Well, this was certainly new for him. Laying in bed with a man, Harry Saint Potter no less, and _stroking his arm_?

This was not going to end well.


	3. Revelations and Spines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco could not help but notice how long and feminine the man's eyelashes looked; they brushed against his smooth skin as he slept, reminding Draco of doe's eyes.

  
_Look in my eyes I'll make you see_   
_We're drifting aimlessly_   
_Blind in a world of make believe_   
_Hear them sing their songs off key_   
_And nod like they agree_   
_Buying the need to be discreet_   


_\- Poets of the Fall: Illusion and Dream_

* * *

Draco awoke with a start, as something prodded him sharply in the side. Groaning slightly, he tried to sit up - why in Merlin's name was his bed so uncomfortable this morning? - only to meet a resistance. Peering down, his eyes widened, almost terrified, at the sight of Saint Potter clinging like a child to his side, one arm wrapped tightly around his torso.

Draco could not help but notice how long and feminine the man's eyelashes looked; they brushed against his smooth skin as he slept, reminding Draco of doe's eyes. Blanching, he decided the was only one thing for it; elbowing Potter sharply in the ribs, he finally regained the ability to move as the dark haired man gasped loudly, curling into a ball as he was winded.

"What the hell was that for, you utter prat?" He moaned, and Draco glared at the insufferable Gryffindor, trying desperately hard to ignore the way Potter's mildly tanned torso curled so gracefully, and the way his spine gently poked through from his skin, looking as if it were made of silk.

Throwing himself from the bed, he rushed to the kitchen. Coffee. That was what he needed; strong, sugarless coffee, with perhaps a dash of leftover Firewhiskey. Yes, that was definitely what he needed. As he dashed about the untidy, practically festering room, he felt eyes on him, and he spun around to find himself staring at a barely clad Potter. He was wearing nothing but long silk trousers in a dazzling scarlet that brought about Draco's headache once more. Why did the fool insist on being so loyal to his old school house? For one thing, the crimson hue looked absolutely dire hung on the man's lean frame, and for another, they drew Draco's attentions downwards far too much for his own comfort.

Seemingly oblivious, Potter dragged himself to the settee before the now dead fire, settling his head in his hands as he sighed. Curious, Draco filled another mug with coffee, neglecting to add alcohol to Potter's - he could not waste a good thing on a man he despised so thoroughly.

"Here, Potter. You look as though you need it." He slid the mug across the table to him, and he accepted it more graciously than Draco expected him to.

"This morning… you were… what were you doing?" Harry - Potter - asked him, and Draco shrugged noncommittally at him, reluctant to disclose the reasons for his… he supposed he could call it comfort. Potter nodded, and sipped the scalding drink, clenching his eyes shut as he swallowed.

"What are you doing here, Potter? You were interrupting my evening, ah, entertainment when you arrived here." Looking decidedly better for it, he thought to himself inwardly. Potter stared blankly ahead of him into the ash filled grate for a moment, before seeming to gather himself up.

"Have you ever been afraid of the future, Draco?" He murmured, and Draco started at the use of his given name. Frowning, he stayed silent, realising that the man had far more to say than that.

"Ever since the wars, I think I've just been drifting. Everybody expected me to continue on to great things at the end, and I believe I just played up to that. People saving Potter, you might call me. Too bloody kind for his own good." Draco snorted, thinking he was joking - surely Potter enjoyed the attention he had received since he was eleven? Potter gave him a scathing look, and sighed, obviously thinking of the words.

"I got sick of it. Sick of the stupid little image I had to work to; perfect Harry Potter, wife plus three kids and the perfect, oh-so expected job. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be an auror after everything that happened back then? It's as if everything's a constant reminded of _him_. I hated it. I regret leaving though, I miss my children. Merlin, I even miss Ginny, never mind how inexplicably awful it was being married to each other." He gained a wistful look, and Draco wondered what had happened to make their marriage so unbearable. Ha- _Potter_ looked at him again, his emerald eyes laden.

"I had to get away, Draco. Had to leave. Ron and Hermione tried to help, as you'd expect, but every moment I had to listen to them thinking up solutions - everything from magical marriage counselling to obliviation - I just wanted to leave. Get away from every damn reminder. I was robbed, Draco, of my childhood. Just as you were, I think." He looked sadly into Draco's eyes, his own piercing and knowing. Draco looked away, abashed at the attention from the man.

He sounded so much older; even the way he was speaking astounded Draco. The man had apparently gained a knowledge of vocabulary, because he definitely sounded far more intellectual than Draco had ever known. Although, did seven years of attempted murder and homicide really count as knowing a person? He shook his head, listening once more to Potter, who had been rambling in the background of his thoughts.

"That was why I came here. Travelled to your manor first, to find it lived in by merely some frankly terrifying woman and her son. No idea who they were, of course, but they told me where you had escaped to." He raised an eyebrow and Draco picked up on the undercurrent of sarcasm.

"My wife and child are to be looked after always, no matter how little I mean to either of them. Do not believe for one second that that manor would ever be handed to somebody not of the Malfoy bloodline." He spat bitterly, and Potter merely looked at him, openly trying to deduce something of his nemesis.

"You know the feelings I describe, Malfoy. Don't deny it, it must have hurt to leave them. Knowing that you can't return." He murmured, and Draco let his gaze drop, memories filling his mind as he attempted to listen.

"You were the only person I could come to. I grew tired of self imposed exile, but I'm not ready to face them all. You owe me a debt, _Malfoy_." He looked up, his gaze suddenly piercing, as if forcing Draco to succumb. Sighing, he waved the lock of the front door shook wordlessly, and retracted his wand into his ebony holster.

Later that night, when Potter had regaled him with enough tales of his world travels that he had grown exhausted, Draco withdrew from the seat they were sharing, although he supposed he really couldn't call it that, when they were each sat as far apart from each other as was physically possible. Lord knows why he had chosen to come to Draco, when he could obviously barely stand being in the same room as him.

He stepped in the direction of the bedroom, fully intending to sleep there and then, but he felt a hand rest upon his shoulder almost hesitantly. Turning reluctantly, he saw Potter standing, looking a little like a lost schoolboy.

"I hope you don't mind, but… last night, I awoke in the night. I saw you there, and… it helped me to sleep better. To have somebody there, I mean. It could be anyone, it had nothing to do with the fact that it was… you." Potter mumbled hurriedly, and Draco nodded in resigned defeat. Flourishing his hand mockingly, he allowed Potter to overtake him to his own bed chambers. _Insufferable, pompous, over courageous, Gryffindor,_ he spat to himself, as if to remind him of who the man was, once more.

As he entered the room, he immediately started, as he saw the man stripping himself of the muggle attire he had previously worn - yet again, Draco had been shocked at the man's appearance; it had comprised of expensively made trousers, and a light cashmere jumper - and placing the clothes neatly in a pile atop his trunk. Draco laughed inwardly at the word; why must it have so many different meaning?

As Potter arranged his body beneath the sheets, Draco reluctantly undressed, bequeathing Potter with instructions to _turn around, I don't need you bloody staring at me_. Peeling back the duvet, he got in under a strained silence, and rolled onto his side, staring at the wall, and away from Potter. As he stared grimly at the room, realising that if he was to be sharing his apartment, he really should be thinking about cleaning it at some point, he felt a finger trace down his spine, marking where Draco's bones poked out slightly through his skin. Closing his eyes, he suppressed a purr as the man breathed against his back, and Draco wondered what possessed him to merely lay in silence at Harry's wanderings. Potter's wanderings, he corrected himself again, cursing his lack of control.

The brunette snorted softly, before evidently realising he was safe from whatever curses Draco could have deigned to throw at him. As he drew away, Draco relaxed into the mattress, glad of the peace.

As he settled down to sleep, he felt a hand rest brazenly upon his hipbone, and he barely stopped himself from starting in shock as a nest of soft, feather-like hair found itself resting between his shoulder blades. The man practically snuffled against his back, and he held back a feeling of horror, as it was overtaken by something else. He did not wish to think about what said something else was at that moment, and instead resigned himself to an interesting night's sleep.


	4. Rivulets and Rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life was perfect.

  
_When will this fairytale get easy,_   
_And when will this doubt disappear from my head?_   
_Please somebody help me,_   
_Somebody help me._   
_Somebody say when the fight is over,_   
_My heart is all burned_   
_And nothing can ease the pain._   
_I'm falling into something I'm scared_   


_\- Sunrise Avenue: Somebody Help Me_

* * *

Staring out of the window, Draco watched as the patrons of Diagon Alley flocked about their business, umbrella charms cast over practically the whole street as the rain plummeted down from the sky. With a sigh, he turned away, ignoring the pattering sounds of the rain as it merged with the sounds of the shower turned to full blast. The night had been an interesting one, for definite. Draco had woken halfway through the night to find himself acting as some sort of tree to Potter. Koala Potter, as he thought of him now, remembering how tightly the man had clutched at him in his sleep. Grimacing at the memory, Draco downed the remainder of his coffee, his eyes falling suddenly upon a framed photo of a smiling blonde boy. The child was clutching at a small smoke coloured kitten, a look of pure delight on his face. Draco sighed.

_Scorpius shrieked happily as the kitten pounced upon his lap, and he looked up at Draco, his face splitting into a wide grin. As the kitten clawed frantically at the toddler's coat toggles, Draco knelt down, prising it gently from his front. As it glared at him, the boy stuck his lower lip out, disappointed. Seeing the look, Draco smiled, and placed the cat into the cage beside them. His son looked at him, astounded, as Draco passed the shopkeeper a handful of galleons and knuts. As if unbelieving, Scorpius gingerly picked up the cage, and Draco grabbed his other hand, dashing from the store eagerly._

" _Astoria!" He called, and his wife appeared from the corner, a camera poised in her hands in preparation._

" _Hold him, Scorpius." She commanded, and the boy threw the cage's door open, seizing the cat in euphoria. As it was manhandled, it grabbed at his hood in a bid to escape, but the boy was too quick for it, nuzzling its head with his cheek. The cat relaxed as Astoria snapped a photo quickly, and Draco shoved the kitten quickly back into its cage before it made its next bid for freedom._

" _Thank you Daddy!" Scorpius yelped happily, cradling the basket in his arms. As the cat crouched low, not yet sure of how to use its feet, Astoria grabbed hold of her son and husband, before quickly disapparating from the street. As they reappeared moments later in their sitting room, the cat yowled loudly in confusion, disorientated even more than it had been before._

" _What will you name it, Scorpius?" Draco asked his son, crouching down in front of him to vanish the cage from the room. Scorpius looked at his father with wide, staring eyes, not sure what to say on the spot._

" _Smoke?" He muttered, and Draco felt his heart go out to his son. So much pressure handed down merely from the idea of being a Malfoy. Ruffling the boy's hair, he smiled._

" _Perfect, son!" He reached for his wand, and engraved the name into the cat's collar, and his son smiled, gripping his father suddenly about the middle, the cat forgotten. Smiling, Draco hugged him back. Life was perfect._

"Malfoy, where are your fresh towels?" A voice broke him from his memories, and Draco rolled his eyes. Typical Potter, forgetting the fact that his wand could quite easily conjure basic amenities. On the bright side, the man had stopped insisting on using his first name, and Draco turned to the bathroom, intending on dragging a towel out from the cupboard beside it and throwing it through the door without looking.

That plan was interrupted however, as he turned to see Potter's torso hanging out of the bathroom door, the wooden frame hiding anything lower. Flushing madly, Draco tore his gaze from the brunette to anything else, his eye sight finally landing upon a pile of roughly folded laundry near the cupboard. Seizing a fluffy white towel from the top of the pile, he threw it at Potter who caught in smugly in his practiced seeker's hands. Droplets of water ran down the man's chest, leaving glistening tracks of water lines streaked over his skin. Dropping his gaze, Draco glared at the floor.

"Given up trying to be a wizard, Potter? You _could_ have just conjured the damn towel." He scowled once more at the brunette, and he grinned easily at him, ruffling his own hair in mock guilt.

"A bit out of practice, it seems." He turned back to the bathroom, shutting the door to behind him, and Draco glared at the door, uttering all oaths he could think of.

"Pox ridden prat. I hope he realises how much this is going to drive me to the mental asylum." He slammed into the bedroom, muttering about the "insufferable prat infiltrating his ideal lifestyle."

Harry sat on the tiled floor of Draco's grimly decorated bathroom, fingering a scar lining the side of his hand thoughtfully. He had half dressed himself; loose linen trousers punched up around his feet, and he clutched a shirt in his hand, patting absentmindedly at the pattern. Why was he still here? He had promised himself to simply turn up, realise that it was a mistake, and leave again. He hadn't intended to even knock on the door, hadn't intended to so much as step across the threshold.

Pausing, he heard Draco banging about in the bedroom next door, and Harry sighed, wondering what had happened to end up in his old enemy's bathroom at age thirty. He twisted his fingers absently around where his wedding ring once settled, and a flashback dimmed his vision lazily.

_A poorly aimed mantle piece ornament flew past Harry's head, and he ducked, spelling a shield charm around himself as another, better aimed photo frame narrowly missed his forehead._

" _Ginny! Calm down! Please, you're scaring James!" He yelped as she brandished her wand angrily, an incendio spell landing at his feet. Jumping back, he cast a spell at the floor to put out the minor fire that had blossomed there. The redhead glared at him, and shook her head, her face clashing brilliantly with her hair. She was about to cast something else as he cowered, but was distracted by a plump hand pulled at her skirt. Glancing down, her expression softened at her son as he stared up at her, clearly confused._

" _Mummy, why are you fighting?" He asked with a lisp, and Ginny looked back at Harry, who had now lowered his shield charm, coming forward to kneel beside his son._

_James Potter looked so much like Harry that it split his heart apart to gaze at him. Tousling the boy's hair, he sighed, noting that the only difference between his son, and his six year old self was the missing lightning bolt scar._

" _We're not fighting anymore, Jamie." He muttered, and he glanced up at his now calm wife. She looked down at the pair, shaking her head._

" _No more, Harry. I can't do this anymore." She looked beaten, and something landed on the floor as she turned to the kitchen. James followed her, dragging behind him a toy broomstick, clearly hoping for flying lessons in the garden. As his son left the room, Harry looked down at the floor to see a thin circlet of white gold resting upon the rug._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That was when he felt, for sure, that Harry Potter would not be coming back.

_I finally put it all together  
That nothing really lasts forever  
I had to make a choice that was not mine  
I had to say goodbye for the last time  
I kept my whole life in a suitcase  
Never really stayed in one place  
Maybe that's the way it should be  
You know I live my life like a gypsy_

_\- Shinedown: Call Me_

* * *

"You've still neglected to inform me of why you chose my doorstep to darken." Draco looked pointedly at Potter, and he sighed, glancing at the ticking mantel clock across the room. The brunette had taken to wringing his hands nervously throughout the past week, and Draco could see the skin beginning to lighten from dryness. Feeling an odd leap of pity, he acknowledged that the last six days had, in fact, been pleasant. The two men had fallen into a sort of pattern, in which they would each rise, taking turns in Draco's trickle of a shower, before drinking infinite amounts of coffee and reading.

Draco had hundreds of books at his disposal; it was one of the only things that he had not neglected in his new home. The rows of antique, leather bound books shone from being dusted so often, and the black painted shelves that they sat upon blended into the background of the gloom, leaving the literature to stand out against the blackness. It was like art to Draco.

Avoiding Draco's question as usual, Harry stood up from the settee gingerly, rubbing his aching neck as he crossed to the books. He had discovered throughout his time in the company of the Slytherin that Draco had rather a guilty pleasure for muggle fiction; the shelves of beautiful leather bound books were disrupted by a long row of colourful paperbacks which would regularly be removed, and then replaced once more as the night drew to a close.

Draco was an exceptionally fast reader, sometimes speeding through more than one book in a day. Harry had taken to tucking his gangling legs beneath his chin and watching him read for hours at a time. The look of concentration upon his face made all trace of his trademark sneer disappear, and for not the first time, Harry noticed how attractive the blond was.

"Potter?" Draco was not about to give up this time. Despite his growing familiarity with the Gryffindor, he was still determined to find out why it had been he that had been graced with the reappeared Saviour's presence; surely the golden wonder boy would rather have gone to red faced Weaselby, or the incessantly chattering muggleborn he had deigned to have hanging onto his arms in the past.

"Hmm?" Harry looked up from trailing his long fingers down the array of spines taking over the bookshelf, and Draco rolled his eyes. The man was insufferably easily distracted, Draco was beginning to notice.

"Why are you here, Harry?" Draco cursed himself inwardly at the slip up; it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember to use _Potter's_ surname, and only his surname, with the occasional addition of an insult. At least he had not lost his signature drawl, with added smirk. He sneered at the thought, wondering then if that was necessarily a good thing after all.

"I'm not sure. There was a reason, but I forget things easily these days." Potter sighed, twisting his hand around his ring finger - yet another habit, Draco noted - and frowned, as if trying to remember.

As he stared ahead of him, he snorted suddenly, not in a mocking fashion, but more of a fond, reminiscent way. At least, that was the way Draco attempted to interpret it.

"I remember you, in first year. You were a pompous twat, you know?" He chuckled under his breath, and Draco winced inwardly, remembering himself.

"I was so desperate for you to be my friend…" He trailed off as he realised what he had said, and felt himself blush fantastically. Mortified, he turned away, pretending to search for a fallen bookmarker. Malfoys did _not_ blush, he reinforced in his mind, and set his face in what he hoped was a look of calm arrogance. Harry said nothing, merely watching Draco through calculating eyes. Those eyes, Draco cursed himself for noticing, that lit up at the oddest of moments, and darkened at the saddest of times.

At the present moment in time, they were unexpectedly lit up, the bright emerald depths shimmering with strange speckles of gold.

"What's this? The famously anti-Potter Malfoy wanted me to be his friend?" Potter raised his eyebrows, and Draco glared at him, before throwing one of the lesser books at his forehead. The man rubbed at his head, somehow managing to make his nest of hair look even more as if it had been styled by Hagrid.

"You never knew me." He muttered all of a sudden, and Draco stiffened at the momentary loss of guard. Harry was looking at him uncertainly, as if trying to decide whether to continue or not.

"All the others… they knew me, in a way. They would have expected so much of me. Whereas you just… well. I've been here for a week now, and you still don't care that I haven't told you why. Well, maybe you do, but you don't mither." He grimaced, and Draco remembered how the hoards of Potter heads had constantly followed him around, always expecting something or another from the so-called Chosen One.

"After the war, I kept remembering you. How you knew how it felt. To have to do things you didn't want to do, because they were expected." The Gryffindor muttered quietly, and Draco's eyes widened impossibly.

"I've promised people all my life to be something constant. I've promised myself the complete opposite; to change my ways to how I want to live. But no, it hasn't happened. Merlin knows I've tried. Even now I… wish I could still help." He looked at Draco, and the Slytherin felt something shift inwardly.

"You can call me a saint, or you can call me a sinner. But I had to make a choice. I said goodbye. My last goodbye." Harry proceeded to then sit down once more, upon the shared settee. But this time was different; the Slytherin felt him sit closer. He could feel Harry's heat emanating from him in a way that he was only used to at night. Those nights that had never really been truly discussed; endless darkness stretched out in front of him, with only the pale torso of the man he hated stretched out as a constant.

Draco swallowed, suddenly feeling trapped. He was too close, his presence was too felt. As Harry looked at him, he felt something break, and he moved forward, his hand reaching out, uninhibited as he reached for Potter's hand. The Gryffindor made no move to stop him, merely switching positions to move closer.

Sighing heavily - or was it just breathing? - Draco reached up to touch the edge of Harry's jaw gently. The emerald pools softened, and he move forward, pressing his lips against the other man's, in a manner that was far too shy for a Malfoy. Pushing the thought aside, he pushed his fingers into Harry's hair, expecting to meet a wall of resistance, but instead the brunette moved closer, shifting his bent knee out of the way from where it sat between them. With the barrier gone, Draco felt himself move closer, almost in a trance, and he closed his eyes. The image of Harry was imprinted in his mind, and as his lips traced softly over Draco's, he felt himself sigh. His breath caught in his throat as Harry's lips parted, just slightly, a wetness and warmth so delicious he could not resist.

Fingers curling sharply in Potter's hair, he traced his other hand almost tenderly down an exposed arm, feeling muscles tense beneath his touch. Leaning closer, he felt himself relax into the other man, and he marvelled at how soft Harry's lips were, how unsure of themselves they seemed. Taking control, Draco tentatively parted his lips, nipping lightly at the Gryffindor's bottom lip before taking the chance to explore his mouth gently. He smelt of cinnamon, and a slightly citrus-like headiness, and tasted of lemons and a light muskiness that was almost festive; his tongue probed gently at the light flavours, the senses, of Harry.

The brunette responded with a sudden vigour, leaning forward to push Draco back against the arm of the settee, grabbing his wrists in the process as they fell downwards. Breath hitching, he muffled a startled yelp as Potter breathed into him, hovering slightly above him. Draco gazed upwards, searching into his eyes for a sign of what was happening. The air between them was filled with their short breaths, and Harry eyes watched him, gaze flipping between Draco's eyes and his lips.

As if decided, the man leaned to kiss him once more, taking his lips surprisingly gently in his own, a tongue gently flicking out to caress his own. Sighing backwards, Draco ignored the sharp pain of the leather corner that was sticking into the side of his shoulder blade, concentrating clearly on Harry. Potter. Whoever he was, whoever Draco deigned to call him, he could not ignore the way that the man was delicately moving away from his lips, kissing lightly at his jaw line to meet with the sensitive skin beneath his ear. A shiver ran through his spine as the brunette nibbled delicately at his neck, smooth fingers gliding over his collarbone softly. As Draco reached up to stroke his hair, Harry stiffened, pulling back slightly as his eyes fell upon the dark ink pattern lacing around the pale forearm, and Draco protested, a whimper dying in his throat as a gasp rang through the room. As if seeing what was happening for the first time, Harry leapt back from the startled Slytherin, stumbling over his feet as he scrambled for the door, not looking back at Draco as he fled.

The Slytherin collapsed against the soft leather, clenching his eyes shut tightly in regret. That was when he felt, for sure, that Harry Potter would not be coming back.

* * *

Later that night, Draco sank back against the pillows of his bed, glancing weakly at the empty spot in the bed beside him. Their strange routine had become familiar, and he felt a pang of - something - as he saw the space stretching out into the darkness, stark white sheets unbroken by the usual tanned figure that had laid upon them beside him for the past six nights.

Sighing, he turned to the side, and fell into a restless doze.

* * *

A figure padded through the apartment as a whisper, the front door closing behind it in near silence. Slipping beneath the sheets in the bedroom, Harry lay down in the crook of Draco's outstretched arm, careful not the wake the slumbering Slytherin. Closing his eyes, his breathing became deep, and even, and he fell asleep slowly, a strange smile playing on his lips in the dark of the night.

Maybe that's the way he should go, straight into the mouth of the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Several lines in this chapter were used in homage to Shinedown's fantastic song, Call Me:
> 
> "Merlin knows I've tried."   
> \- Wizarding play on the words of the line; "God knows I've tried."
> 
> "You can call me a saint, or you can call me a sinner..."  
> \- Slightly changed line; "Call me a sinner, call me a saint..."
> 
> "Maybe that's the way he should go, straight into the mouth of the unknown."  
> \- Directly taken from the line; "Maybe that's the way that I should go, straight into the mouth of the unknown."
> 
> If there are any references from Call Me that I've missed, please don't hesitate to point them out!


	6. Showering with Earl Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashes of limbs, skin on skin, eyelashes, and brilliant emeralds swam across his memory, and he narrowed his eyes, forcing himself to keep up his visage calm. Cold. As a Malfoy's should be.

  
_So I'll love whatever you become_   
_And forget the reckless things we've done_   
_I think our lives have just begun_   
_I think our lives have just begun_   
_And I'll feel my world crumbling_   
_I'll feel my life crumbling_   
_I'll feel my soul crumbling away_   
_And falling away_   
_Falling away with you_   


  
**-** _Muse: Falling Away With You_

* * *

Harry stared up, emerald eyes questioning, as he cautiously reached his hand upwards. Gently, he pressed his fingertips against Draco's jaw, the jagged edge of the bone delicate beneath his skin. The blond gazed down, platinum hair laying tousled around his face, as a halo against the white pillows. His slate eyes were solemn, and as he splayed a curious hand against Harry's chest, a furrow rested itself between his brows.

"What… what happened to you?" He whispered, sounding completely un-like himself, and Harry's face immediately went cold, staring blankly away from the Slytherin. A sigh escaped his lips, almost indistinguishable, and Draco gently moved his hand to brush a strand of hair from the other man's eyes.

"Harry?" The word still sounded foreign on Draco's lips, and he rolled the two syllables around casually, trying to get the feel of them.

"Ginny. We, ah. Well. It's complicated." Harry looked at him, and Draco sighed; this story was beginning to seem impossible to draw from the man.

As the Gryffindor turned over slightly in the bed, Draco watched his body, fascinated at the contours that in one sense, he was so familiar with, but in another were so foreign. Different.

New.

Out of nowhere, Harry started laughing beside him, and he looked down, bemused at the brunette's giggling. Paranoid, he drew his hand through his hair, only to cause yet more fits of laughter from the other man. Staring around, confused he drew back.

"What? What are you laughing at, Potter?" He asked sharply, a furrow creasing his forehead, marring his features considerably.

"Your… your hair! It's so… messy… ha-ha, who would have thought… Malfoy gets bed hair!" Draco glared, pushing Harry away from him, irritated.

"You have been sharing my bed for a number of days now, Potter. Why have you only just now thought to mention this… bed hair?" He gritted his teeth at the ridiculousness of the statement, and Harry pulled himself abruptly from where he lay upon the bed. He reached a hand tentatively upwards, keeping one eye on Draco's reactions as he moved to flatten the hair tenderly.

"Well, until now, you would have probably thrown me through the window…" He looked down to hide his grin as the blond grabbed his wrist in threat.

"Who says I still won't?" He growled, and Harry looked at him, "afraid", before bursting into tears of laughter once more.

"You just won't. I know you won't." He smiled, and Draco grimaced. _Won't I?_ He pushed himself from the bed swiftly, before grabbing Harry around the waist and pulling him in the direction of the large window. He slammed the brunette against the glass, pulling his wand out as he did so.

"Trust me, _Potter_ , I would still throw you from this room if you tested my patience enough." He growled, but Harry merely looked around, raising one eyebrow at their stances. Draco followed his eyes, and realised just how close to the man he was. Memories of the previous few days danced before his eyes, and he felt the colour in his cheeks rise, unbidden. Flashes of limbs, skin on skin, eyelashes, and brilliant emeralds swam across his memory, and he narrowed his eyes, forcing himself to keep up his visage calm. Cold. As a Malfoy's should be.

"I'm getting coffee." He snarled, and pushed himself away from Potter, storming from the room, sulking. Harry grinned, before crawling back to the bed thankfully.

Draco may have been a morning person, but in all his years, Harry never had been, needing Ron or Dean to throw things at him in the mornings to wake him for lessons. This had developed into a need for Ginny to simply throw him from the bed each morning in the blissful, easier days of their marriage, resulting in many bruises and cuts from her strength as a chaser for the Holyhead Harpies.

He listened to Draco clattering around the kitchen with more violence than was needed, and he felt a smile rise to his face as he leant back against the cushions of the bed.

"Make mine a tea, Draco!" He called, biting back a laugh as he heard the Malfoy swear angrily. He hated tea, and made a point of refusing to so much as look at Harry when he was drinking it.

Harry rolled over, realising just how much he had learnt about Draco in just under two weeks. He frowned, realising he had to tell Draco why he was here eventually. It wasn't fair to keep doing what he was doing. Not without telling him everything. Groaning, he relinquished his hold on the pillow that he hadn't even realised he was clutching, and pulled the covers over his head, slipping unwillingly back to sleep immediately.

* * *

"Oi, Potter. Don't you want this?" Something hard slammed into the side of Harry's face only minutes later, and he pulled the blanket from his head begrudgingly to find a charmed cup of tea hammering repeatedly against his head as he struggled to disentangle himself from the covers.

He bit back a laugh as he remembered a moment from years ago; his aunt and uncle really _should_ have just taken the drinks that Dumbledore had offered them, they truly should. The hammering continued, and he blinked as he realised the tea was still charmed. Reaching out, he seized the cup from the air, drinking the sweet liquid thankfully. Draco grimaced as he watched him sipping the insipid brown drink, revolted, and turned to his own cup of strong, milk less coffee thankfully. He breathed in the heady smell of the drink, sighing in adoration for his morning love. He opened one eye as he heard a cough, and glared at Potter for disrupting his morning ritual.

"Don't make me give you a tea shower, Potter." He growled over the rim of his cup, and the brunette smiled innocently, sticking one thin finger up from his tea cup. He looked ridiculous; Draco started snickering, and placed his coffee down on the bedside table as his chuckles progressed into full blown laughter.

Shaking his head at Harry through watering eyes, he pulled himself from the bed once more, heading over to the shower.

"I need to go out today. Need more Firewhisky." He slammed the bathroom door behind him, and Harry rolled his eyes. It was all about the alcohol. He rolled to Draco's side of the bed, and sniffed curiously at Draco's cup of coffee; sure enough, there was no familiar smell of whisky settling over the cup. As he went to move back to his slumber, he noticed a photo frame placed face down upon the wooden surface of the table. Frowning slightly, he glanced to the bathroom, and, hearing the shower come to life from within it, picked the photo frame up carefully.

It featured the small, blond haired boy that was placed so often through the house, a small, haughty looking kneazle glaring out from his clutching hands. Why was the photo placed face down? Harry frowned, before noticing who else featured in the photo; a woman, presumably his wife was knelt down beside the boy, Diagon Alley featuring prominently behind her. But her focus was not on the camera man, nor the boy. She was gazing off into the distance, her face blank. Harry glanced at the woman more closely; her hand featured in the photo, holding fast to the small boy as if afraid he would disappear. It was devoid of a wedding wing, and Harry realised then why the photo was not to be seen.

He heard the shower switch off, and he threw the frame back down in its place, pulling himself up from the bed and grabbing a T shirt from a chair near the bathroom door. As he began pulling it on, a hand reached out behind him, spinning him around as the door opened fully. Draco stepped closer to him, eyes burning as he pushed Harry against the wall. He was wearing only a pair of trousers, and his chest pushed against Harry barely clad torso, damp skin meeting his own. Gasping, he lurched backwards.

"D… Draco?" He stammered at the Slytherin's combined closeness and abruptness, and Draco shook his head, leaning in to kiss him, almost desperately. Harry clutched at the blond's waistband as if to keep himself from falling as Draco's lips pressed against his own. They were damp, soft as they withdrew from his own dry, chapped lips, and he breathed hard as Draco's hands brushed with surprising softness against his back, his fingertips stroking down his skin tenderly.

"Why did you come here?" He murmured through Harry's hair as he gently nipped at his earlobe, and Harry shook his head, clenching his eyes shut. Soft lips embraced his skin, kissing down his neck as he flushed brilliantly.

"Why?" More murmurs against his jugular, and he sighed as Draco carried on, kissing every inch of his torso gently.

"It… doesn't matter!" He gasped as the blond flicked a pointed tongue against his exposed nipple, his breaths coming out in little more than pants.

"Tell me." Whispers now, hot little breaths of air breathed across his skin, and Harry leant against the wall, running a hand without purpose through his already tousled hair. The lips moved lower, grazing over his belly button with only the slightest touch against his skin; it was little more than a trace against him. Fingers brushed against his wrists as they pinned him against the wall, and Draco began to kiss against his abdomen, nose pressing against him.

"I… can't." Harry managed to exhale as a pant, and the kisses began to move back, landing softly up his torso. Grey eyes met his, almost sad before they closed, leaning in to capture his lips once more.

"When you're ready." Draco muttered, before stepping away, keeping his fingers clasped around Harry's wrist until the last moment. He stepped out of the bedroom, grabbing a jumper as he walked out, leaving Harry's arm to drop beside him, abandoned.

"Fuck!"


	7. Nocturnally Silent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Harry, why do you keep researching this stuff? It's pointless, and it won't help. Just give it up!"

_He was the congregation's vagrant_  
With an unrequited love  
When your passion's exaltation,  
Then finding refuge is not enough  
She was the youngest of the family  
And the last to be let go  
When they decided they would try  
And make it on their own 

_Panic! at the Disco: Memories_

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Nocturnally Silent**

The door slammed behind him, and Draco clenched his eyes shut tightly before treading softly down the smoke coated set of steps that led to the street below. Wringing his hands nervously, he headed towards the throngs of people, blending easily with the crowd. His clothes were nondescript; a black pair of jeans, and a grey jumper hidden beneath the billowing folds of his cloak. Looking about him, he drew his cloak tighter about his shoulders, and stepped lightly through the crowd, pushing people gently to the sides as he weaved through the dozens of witches and wizards in his path.

His heart was thumping as he walked; thoughts of Potter filled his mind to the corners, images and broken half-memories attempting to demand his attention as he tried to clear his mind. He was becoming even more frustrated than before at the former Gryffindor's silence, and he cursed the Slytherin streak in the other man silently.

" _Do you remember first year? When you offered me your friendship?" Harry spoke unexpectedly from his seat; an ancient book lay open in his lap, balancing on his crossed legs precariously. Draco looked over at him, frowning._

" _Of course, why?" He cocked his head to one side, as Harry smiled slightly._

" _Do you remember being sorted?" Draco merely looked at Harry, incredulous. Of course he remembered the sorting; it had been the day his world was torn apart. Shaking his head at the memories, he looked back to Harry, who had seemingly been staring at anything but Draco, a faraway look in his eye._

" _I was nearly put in Slytherin. Did you know that? Of course you didn't… I've never told anybody. I chose to be put in Gryffindor…" His voice trailed off, and he looked around as if he didn't know what he had been saying._

Draco could remember the shiver that had run the course of his entire body, and pushed the thoughts aside, not wanting to think of the past. Yes, Potter definitely had many Slytherin qualities. His distrustfulness, for one, along with that certain glint in his eye when…

No. Draco shook his head violently, causing a witch nearby to fix him with an openly curious stare, bags that had been clutched in her hands dropping to the floor as he turned to her, recognition written obviously on her face. Sighing, he drew his cloak higher around him, ducking back into the crowd. The people were beginning to thin out here, and he looked to the sides before slipping down a narrow side street.

The weather beaten sign that hung above his head seemed to mock him as he cast his eyes downward, not wanting to draw more attention than necessary. An aged witch staggered past him, her staring eyes landing momentarily on him. Her mouth opened in a festering grin, revealing three rotten, yellowed teeth, and he grimaced, walking past her quickly.

His feet beat a steady path through the winding alley, before coming to rest before a darkened, ancient door. The window was lined with grime, and served no longer as it was made to function; the only things Draco could see through the window were flickering, moving shadows. Breathing in sharply, he placed a hand upon the filthy door handle, and stepped through.

* * *

Harry moved listlessly about the flat, moving from one thing to another with pronounced apathy. He picked up books, flicking through the pages, uninterested, and made himself several cups of tea, staring blankly into them as the steam clouded up his glasses.

Draco's flat was in a mess; grime coated the windows, and the rooms were dark, the heavy curtains letting in little light from the outside. Harry shook his head, frowning at the Slytherin's new way of living; the apartment was a far cry from the glimpses of the manor he had once seen. Harry shuddered inadvertently at the memories, his thoughts crying out to be shielded, as always. He clenched his eyes shut, preventing the stream of thoughts that was attempting to break through.

Glimpses of the past broke through his barriers, and he shook his head violently, forcing himself to move again. Grabbing a mug from the low coffee table, he threw himself at the kitchen, pouring yet another cup of tea from the self heating teapot. Why Draco had a teapot when he loathed tea was beyond him, but he shrugged it aside, thankful for the foresight on the blond's part.

He clutched the mug in his hand as he sat slowly back down. He had to tell Draco at some point, he knew it. He thought back to earlier, and wondered at Draco for a moment; he seemed to be going to any length to get Harry to speak. It was odd, they had loathed each other for so long, but in the past two weeks everything had just fallen together. It was an odd routine that they held, suspended in the middle of time, in a way. Neither did much, other than read, and leave the apartment for more alcohol. Something had to give, Harry thought. Nothing could stay like this; there was no point to it.

He thought of the various moments that he and Draco had shared in the time that Harry had returned. Well, returned in the sense that Draco knew he was back; he had informed neither Ron, nor Hermione of his return. He shook his head as unwanted visions of his best friends swam in front of his sight, thinking again to the entanglement of limbs and clothes that crowded his mind. It had been a strange fortnight indeed, he pondered. Very, very strange.

" _Harry!" A voice screamed out from the hall, and Harry sighed, resting his forehead against the cool surface of his desk. Papers surrounded him, and quick quotes quills were scurrying around him, drawing out things from the notes that were important. Set to a level of accuracy far superior to the old models, he was confident that they were writing efficiently, unlike the vividly acid green example that punctuated his memories._

" _HARRY!" The voice was becoming impatient, rapping angrily on the door to his study. He clenched his eyes, pressing his fingers against his temples, trying to massage away the headache that was approaching. Pushing himself up from his seat, he crossed the room, silent on the smooth floorboards. He unlocked the door carefully, and stepped aside calmly as a whirl of red hair and mud sodden Quidditch robes flew into the room._

" _What in Merlin's name have you been_ doing _?" Ginny looked at his, exasperated, and Harry's eyes darted to the stack of parchment taking over his desk guiltily. She saw his glance, and marched to the notes as they attempted to fold themselves rapidly away from her approaching view. He shrank back against the wall, holding his breath as she seized a fast escaping medical article. Her chestnut eyes darted rapidly through the front page of the article, and she turned to him, face furious._

"'It has been said that the disease is not contagious, and could have been caused by a curse, or a natural disruption in the subject's biology. However the condition began, it has to be noted that it is one of the most vicious wizarding illnesses that has been recorded. Once it has begun, the source spreads through the victim's body, causing first discomfort, before progressing into more violent stages, and eventual death.' _Harry, why do you keep researching this stuff? It's pointless, and it won't help. Just give it up!" She snarled at him, and he looked down, to the side, above; anywhere but his wife's searing gaze. The medical article hosted a range of pictures, and he found himself staring again as the flames overcame their pencil drawn victim. Shuddering, he turned to the door, and Ginny pulled him back to her, fingers clasping violently at his shirt. He looked down, and avoided her eyes._

" _Harry! Please, just stop." She muttered sadly, and he chanced to look at her, surprised to see tears of anger - and sadness? - glittering in her eyes. He shook his head, and reached for the article, eyes pleading. She relented, sighing, and stormed from the room, defeated. He looked after her for a moment, and turned back to the desk, replacing the medical notes on top of a stack of gingerly returning parchment._

_He looked once more at the newspaper that he had been perusing before she entered, looking sadly as a family of three looked out at him, a small boy and his blond haired parents. The black and white of the picture didn't show it, but he knew that the child's skin held a slight sheen of a red glow, and he sighed, looking sympathetically at the faces of his parents, clutching their child protectively. A stern looking kneazle glared out from the small boy's hands, and Harry folded the newspaper away, no longer wanting to look at Draco Malfoy's face._


	8. The Confessions of the Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Get the hell out of my flat."

  
_And in a burst of light that blinded every angel_   
_As if the sky had blown the heavens into stars_   
_You felt the gravity of tempered grace_   
_Falling into empty space_   
_No one there to catch you in their arms._   
_Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?_   
_You build up hope, but failure's all you've known_   
_Remember all the sadness and frustration_   
_And let it go._   
_Let it go._   


_Linkin Park: Iridescent_

* * *

Draco stared up at the slowly darkening ceiling, the shadows of outside moving gracelessly across the dirtied surface. Sighing, he clasped his hands behind his head, remarking as they moved through his field of vision that his fingernails were getting far too long, too dirtied. He clenched his eyes shut, and folded in on himself, hearing Harry moving about the kitchen in the darkening hours, plates smashing helplessly against the floor as they were thrown this way and that into disarray.

The frustration emanating from the other man could be felt through the paper thin walls as if the anger was beside him, close enough to taste, and smell. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Draco grimaced, clenching his eyes tighter, unwilling to let in the other man's pain.

A letter had reached the former Gryffindor this morning, bearing the address of one Ginevra Weasley, only to be received by a white faced, shaking Harry upon arrival.

Draco still didn't know the contents of the letter, and felt himself wince as he heard more of his worldly possessions hit the floor, shattering into what sounded like a thousand pieces. The man was becoming insatiable, the breakages clearly doing nothing to release him of whatever was coiling around his limbs. He imagined the emotions as chains, curving about the brunette's wrists and ankles, his neck, choking him slowly. Cursing himself, he pushed up from the mattress, reaching the door in one elegant leap.

Breathing in, he gripped the handle, pushing the wooden panels out into the living area, to be met by the sight of half of his crockery lining the kitchen floor, chips of ceramic flying here and there as Harry stormed through it, electric with anger.

The man's hair was standing in even messier angles than usual, his glasses askew, his clothes in complete disarray. His complexion was turned scarlet, his eyes burning through their window of glass. Draco felt his heart leap to his mouth at the sight, the fire emanating from him, but staunched it quickly, shielding his feelings behind the calmness of Malfoys.

"Harry?" He voiced gingerly, and the former Gryffindor swung round at the mention of his name, eyes blazing, fists clenched. He saw Draco standing, and flung something at him, sneering angrily.

Draco reached out to clutch at what had flown at him, and unclenched his hand to reveal a wadded up piece of parchment, elegant writing visible through the folds.

* * *

_Harry,_

_I have heard word from an acquaintance of mine living in Diagon Alley that you have returned from your exploration of the European countries, to be living in residence with one Draco Malfoy. I feel that it is my duty to remind you of my feelings on this matter, and to warn you of the consequences._

_Harry, please listen to me. What you are doing will not work; I'm sorry, but you need to rid yourself of this "complex" that you have for, in the words of my brother, saving people. You must see that it isn't going to work. Please, just listen to me. Whilst we may not be romantically linked any longer, I still feel that I have a duty to look out for you. Please, visit Hermione and Ron. Stay with them a while, they miss you - I am sorry, I may have informed them of your return. Expect visits, even if you don't plan on staying with them instead._

_Once more, please Harry. Please. For James, Albus and Lily._

_For me._

_Yours always,_

_Ginny._

* * *

Draco stared at the letter, a frown of confusion appearing upon his face. Saving people? Who was Potter meant to be saving this time? He looked questioningly to the brunette, but he turned away, shaking his head as he gripped a small china plate in his hands. Looking down, he seemed to consider, then placed the plate gently down upon the drainage area of the sink.

"Don't hate me." He heard a murmur, scarcely even loud enough to hear, and his eyes widened. What did he mean?

Edging closer, he hesitantly placed a hand on Harry's shirt clad shoulder, puzzlement giving way to a strange need to reassure.

The man's shoulder was instantly pulled away as Harry leapt aside, almost as if Draco's torch had burned him. Looking round, it was as if he had only just seen the results of his destruction, and he pulled out his wand, waving it silently at the debris. Instantly, the shattered porcelain rose up, forming itself back together, before stacking neatly, with the sound of brand new bells, in the cabinets on the wall.

"Your son. I had heard of your son." The man muttered, his words dark, quiet. Draco felt his heart lurch uncomfortably in his chest, his stomach seeming to suddenly fall slightly through his body.

"What... what are you talking about?" His tone was immediately defensive, protective. Harry sighed, waving a hand in the air for Draco to follow him, and he walked to the bedroom, to fall beside his trunk.

Rummaging through the stacks of personal items and clothing, Harry seized a folder of notes, to thrust it into Draco's hands silently. The blond looked down at the folder somewhat curiously, taking in the title quietly, without judgement.

" _Ignis Morbus; combatting and researching the magical disease of fire."_

"It was a project, for myself. I was struggling a few years ago in my job. Being an auror... well, I've already told you; it wasn't easy for me. I was considering going into healing, or research healing. Was thinking of going to medical school to become a healer. I was unsure, really.

In my investigations of current diseases, I found this. It immediately caught my attention, purely for its volatility. The disease... it's one of pain, that's for sure. Though you know that." Harry – Potter, looked up at him, doe eyes sad. Draco felt sick as he listened, his fists clenching on the folder tightly.

"I was honestly just researching it as an illness. I didn't realise until halfway through that your son was a victim of it. I genuinely had no idea. I'd like... I'd like to help you." The brunette was looking at his feet, his awkwardness emanating from him like a fire of his own.

"And what makes you think I'd accept it?" Draco gritted his teeth, turning away from the report as he threw it down on the bed in disgust.

"You just want to experiment on him, don't you? Prod and poke him, and make notes. Take analyses, and temperature conditions and levels. You want to treat him like a medical experiment. You don't want to fix him. The second you've got what you want, you'll cast him aside, and let him die." Draco hissed through his teeth, eyes narrowed. Immediately, as the words left his mouth, Potter's face fell, clearly disappointed.

"That's not what I mea-"

"Get out of my flat. Go on. Leave. Go back to your wife, and forget about me." Draco interrupted whatever drivelling apology that Potter was attempting, spitting vehemently at the obnoxious brunette.

He lunged towards Potter's trunk, throwing the report on the top, and shutting the lid with a loud clatter. Picking up some of the man's dirty clothes from the floor behind him, he threw them, hard, at the other man's chest, glaring angrily all the while.

"Leave. Now."

Potter stammered before him, hands clutching, ridiculously, at a pair of crimson boxer shorts. His face was red, his mouth opening and closing as if he were some sort of fresh water carp. Draco sneered, pointing at the frame upon his bedside cabinet.

"That is my son. I haven't seen him in seven months. What do you think gives you the right to come here, expecting me to let you touch him, experiment on him? Did you really think a couple of kisses, and a bit of flirting would really make me willing to change my son into a lab rat? You're sick." Draco was furious, his hands shaking, his knuckles white. He felt a surge of anger surge through him, and he kicked the mahogany trunk towards the other man.

"Get the hell out of my flat."


	9. Vanishing Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bemused, eyes wide, and mouth slack jawed, the second youngest Weasley stepped forward, stretching a hand to Harry’s shoulder as if to check he wasn’t an apparition. Harry grinned, shrugging his shoulders, before being knocked back into the shelves as a very large, very heavy fist slammed into his nose violently, blood spraying all over Harry’s jumper as he felt his nose break (again).

_Now I'm low_

_I'm looking out_

_I'm looking in_

_Way down, the lights are dimmer_

_Now I'm low_

_I'm looking out_

_I'm looking in_

_Way down, the lights are dimmer_

_  
Come on, come on_

_Put your hands into the fire_

_Come on, come on_

  
_Thirteen Senses: Into the Fire_

 

 

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice was shrill, frantic as she dashed towards him, a blur of bushy chestnut hair and escaping paperwork. Unfolding himself from the fireplace as the after-effects of flooing washed over him in a dizzy headache, he winced at the high-pitched shriek. Smiling warily, he pushed his hand through his hair nervously. The young woman flew at him, punching his arms and chest angrily, before sobbing, to fall into those same arms.

“Where _were_ you? We’ve been looking for you for… well. Years!” She pulled away from him, her face a confusing expression somewhere halfway between glad and furious. Harry laughed nervously, again reaching up to tousle his wild nest of hair.

“I’ve been on a holiday? A… really… long one…” He trailed off, feeling the guilt creeping up to his face. Hermione was a sharp witch; she would figure him out in less than an hour. Less than a minute, even. Instead of screaming at him though, he watched her as her body sagged, falling into the chair beside her almost wearily.

“Harry…” Her voice was small, distant as she curled a strand of hair around her finger, causing it to bounce back into her hair as she released it. Looking up at him, it looked like she was searching for something, before she looked away once more.

The handle to the young Weasleys’ kitchen door suddenly began to clatter slightly, and Hermione stood up wildly, her eyes wide and worried. Grabbing Harry by his sleeve, she pulled him hurriedly to their pantry, shoving him inside roughly, ignoring his noise of protest as she slammed the door shut behind her. He could hear her outside the door, leaning against it as his old best friend stepped into the room, ducking his head under the low beam. 

Harry heard Ron sigh, throwing something heavy on the floor, before turning to Hermione and rushing towards her, embracing her in what Harry heard to be a somewhat bone-crushing embrace.

“Merlin, you wouldn’t _believe_ the day I’ve had! Damn Fliskett’s been practically tearing the offices apart today, trying to find evidence for this stupid Lancaster case. I swear, the job I’ve had to keep him out of my filing cabinets was enough to make a sane man go cra- ‘Mione, are you alright?” Harry repressed a snort inside the pantry; trust his best friend to still have the observation skills of a blind teaspoon. 

“I’m fine Ronald! Honestly, such a worrier.” Scraping noises sounded as Ron pulled up a chair, and, as Harry pictured through the solid oak door, folded his lanky self into it.

“Really?” Harry imagined a raised eyebrow, a skeptical smile that he remembered fondly from his younger days, “Then why did you just call me Ronald? Been years, _Her_ mione.” He chuckled as she grumbled under her breath, annoyed at the slip up. Sighing, she edged closer to the pantry door, and Harry could hear as she leaned against the wood, holding a steady hand on the door handle. Subtle.

“Ron, I need you to promise me you aren’t going to get angry.” Harry clenched his teeth, backing away into the pantry; he felt his back pressing against shelves piled high with food. Far more food than he’d ever seen in Draco’s fridge. 

He heard as Ron stood up suddenly, edging towards his wife, the air tangible with Ron’s suspicion. Harry supposed, as an Auror, the suspiciousness was a default setting nowadays.

“Why would I get angry, ‘Mione?” His voice was thick with worry, and a slow, silent anger that seemed to seethe through the panels of wood between him and the Auror.

“Just promise, please Ron!” Hermione’s voice was desperate; a pleading concern that made Harry paused as he reached to take hold of his wand. Thinking better of it, he replaced the slender stick back in his back pocket, bracing himself for an argument.

The door opened.

* 

Silence. Harry opened his eyes warily, eyeing his best friend in the flesh for the first time in years. Ron Weasley had grown another few inches, something that Harry didn’t even think possible. The gangling teen had filled out into a more muscular, adult version of himself, with red hair medium in length and neat, robes clean and fitted. His expression, however, had not changed a bit.

Bemused, eyes wide, and mouth slack jawed, the second youngest Weasley stepped forward, stretching a hand to Harry’s shoulder as if to check he wasn’t an apparition. Harry grinned, shrugging his shoulders, before being knocked back into the shelves as a very large, very heavy fist slammed into his nose violently, blood spraying all over Harry’s jumper as he felt his nose break (again).

“What the hell was that for?!” He angrily stepped forward, clutching at his bleeding nose as he groped for his wand. Muttering a healing spell thickly, he felt his broken bones knit back into place, the heat of the spell wholly unpleasant. Glaring at the taller man, the tension between them thick enough to feel almost solid, he sidestepped back into the kitchen to keep distance between himself and Ron.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” Ron snarled at him. Hermione rested a hand on his shoulder, glaring up at him to calm down.

“It’s a long story.” Harry looked at the ground, wringing his hands as he groped around for an explanation that would satisfy the pair. As he lands on something half decent, he opens his mouth, only to be stifled by a sudden rush of bodies pressing themselves against him.

“You absolute _twat_!” Ron’s voice is muffled against his shoulder as he clutches Harry close to him, joining hands with Hermione as she mirrors his movement. Struggling to breathe, Harry croaks back an apology, before being released suddenly to fall into a chair.

“So, you two suddenly got soppier.” He grinned, and a ghost of a smile flashes across Hermione’s face. As she took a seat opposite him, Ron moved to turn the kettle on, clattering three matching mugs on the worktop. Their kitchen is warm, with cheerful décor that reminds Harry of a somewhat tidier Burrow. A television stands in one corner, surrounded by puffy chairs and a stack of both magic and Muggle magazines. No doubt Hermione’s charmed that to work with magic, Harry thinks, smiling at his friend’s intelligence.

“Harry, where on earth have you been?” She looked at him, her expression almost daring him to lie. Sighing, he began to tell them everything, accepting the cup of Earl Grey from Ron gratefully as he started to speak.

* 

Draco slammed the cupboard door furiously, watching as the whole unit shook under his vehement violence. Shooting one more glare at the cupboard, he turned away, gripping his coffee cup in one hand, and a bottle of Ogden’s finest in the other. Staring at the kettle, he shook his head, deciding to bypass the coffee altogether. Pouring a somewhat unhealthy amount of Ogden’s into the cracked mug, he gulped down the spicy liquid, before banishing away the disgusting mug with an angry jab of his wand.

Still shaking from head to toe, he grabbed a book from the side, intending to read it. Instead, he took one look at the awful cover, before banishing that also. Falling back against the settee, hands over his eyes, he felt the beginnings of a blackness creeping to his mind. His flat felt… empty. Devoid of a presence that he had become so used to, so reliant on.

“Fine, you want empty, Draco?” Talking to himself, he stood up from the settee, seizing his wand and slicing it towards the nearest armchair. Disappearing with a crack similar to that of apparating, he felt a flash of emotion run through him, electrifying him as he rounded on a coffee table, vanishing it with an equally loud ‘crack!’.

The pattern continues until he is alone, staring blankly at the empty flat around him. Feeling calm at last, he slowly lowered himself down on to the only piece of furniture remaining; a small, ridiculous looking pouffe, and sighed.

“Fuck you Potter.”


End file.
